


I Use My Outside Voice (Because I Have No Choice)

by LadyMostDeject



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alpha Thomas Jefferson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Enemies to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Frenemies, Happy Ending, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Alexander Hamilton, President Thomas Jefferson, no dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMostDeject/pseuds/LadyMostDeject
Summary: When Jefferson learns that Hamilton, the White House Communications Director and an infuriating, brilliant omega, believes he will be forced into retirement after Washington leaves office, it leads him to reconsider the way the world works for omegas. It leads him to reconsider Hamilton.He shudders to think of the trouble a bored Hamilton with no oversight would get into, so instead, he offers him a job. Surely keeping an eye on him is a better idea than unleashing him into the world.A/B/O Modern Day Political AU
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 91
Kudos: 445





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> :shows up 15 minutes late with Jamilton:
> 
> I started this story in 2016, wrote 20,000 words, and then put it away. I kept thinking about it though, and I’ve finally dusted it off and gotten back to work. I have three chapters written, and the whole thing planned, but it’s unlikely I’ll have a regular posting schedule. I’m posting it, because I’m hoping getting it out there will keep me excited about it.
> 
> Will be explicit in later chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Betaed by marvelous-wayward-fangirl, lexilucacia, and alextheomega442!! Thanks y'all!

July 2014

Letters had been pouring in from his district for weeks already, criticizing Congress and their inability to get anything done, despite their majority. Just today, he’d had meetings with three of his fellow Republican Congressmen. That was enough to exhaust him alone, but each one was even more stupid than the last. Each one dedicated to blocking every bill that came out of the White House. No compromises, no counter offers, no ideas of their own. Nobody even wanted to hear his ideas for something proactive.

_ Then  _ he got a call from the Speaker of the House who was “disappointed” in Thomas’ comments about New York, and he was “concerned that the party might become inclined to withdraw its support if you keep saying things like that.” To add to that, a group of Gender Purists had been picketing outside of his office for 12 hours because of those same comments.

He briefly glanced out the window, and yep. They were still there despite the setting sun. 

_ My God. Who cares if a couple of queers wanted to get hitched in New York?  _ What business was it of anyone else’s? Did these people really have so little in their lives that they needed to leave their homes, and jobs, to stand outside on the hot DC sidewalk for hours, just to fuss at him, a  _ Virginian  _ congressman, who had no hand whatsoever in the creation, or passing of the New York marriage law? 

All of this because on his way out of the capitol yesterday, a reporter had asked his opinion on same secondary-gender marriage, and he’d shrugged and said, “Let them get married. Nothing is more American than being able to do whatever you want.”

Now he’d had his arse handed to him by the Speaker, and had twenty angry people on his sidewalk.

So that was how his day had been going.

“The party might withdraw its support,” he grumbled to himself. “Maybe I’ll withdraw my support of the party, Mr. Speaker, how about that?”

Suffice to say, Thomas was not in a charitable mood when Alexander Hamilton burst into his office, Thomas’ secretary hot on his heels.

“Mr. Jefferson! I’m so sorry, he-”

“Jefferson, stop what you’re doing. I need to talk to you about the bank regulatory bill, it can’t wait.” Hamilton, stack of paper in hand, rushed towards his desk. He smacked the papers down on Jefferson’s already messy desk and started rummaging through them. 

And that was it. That was the last thing that Thomas could handle today. He switched his computer off, shoved it in his briefcase, and stood up to leave. He made eye contact with his poor secretary, still fretfully hovering by the door. 

She’d always been great at reading his moods, and she was so good at her job he’d brought her with him when he’d resigned his position as Washington’s Chief of Staff to run for Congress. He wished she’d stood up to Hamilton’s whirlwind a little better, but that usually seemed a small price to pay. In the brief moment of eye contact they communicated silently and she bustled out of the door. No doubt to call his driver so he could leave.

“So I know it doesn't have the votes as it stands, but I was thinking if I loosened the language around paragraph eight, then I might be able to snatch a couple of the more moderate votes and I need you to look- where are you going?”

Thomas was already out of the office and halfway to his staff’s bullpen before Hamilton caught up and jumped in front of him. “Hey! Wait! I need to talk to you!” 

The omega was tall for his gender, but still dainty enough that Thomas had to look down at him. His hair was pulled back in a tidy ponytail for once, except for a stray lock near his temple that had escaped. Actually, all in all, he was a lot tidier than normal. He was wearing his suit coat for once. It was an expensive suit, but it wasn’t a style that suited a young man and was ill-fitting. The lapel was off-kilter from the strap of his messenger bag, but it was clean and pressed. His goatee was groomed, with no five o’clock shadow despite the hour. His shirt was buttoned to the top and he was actually wearing a tie. He only ever brought the tie out for things like being on television or meeting the Queen of England. He looked... nice. 

He was close enough that Thomas could smell him. His scent always stood out to Thomas, earthy and sweet like flowers after rain, tinted with a wisp of nervousness. Almost everyone in The Company wore scent dampeners. They work too close together and tensions run high. If no one wore them, Thomas supposed they’d have to keep the windows open all the time to keep it from being overpowering. But Hamilton’s track record with dampeners was spotty, and he would sometimes fill up the room with his nervous excitement. The others would complain, sometimes loudly, sometimes to his face, sometimes to Thomas, that he was doing it on purpose, that he was trying to distract them, or lull them into submission.

Thomas had lots of issues with the way Hamilton conducted himself, but his lack of dampeners wasn’t one of them. Meetings in the White House smelled fantastic sometimes. So what? It was clearly fueled by his forgetfulness and insensitivity, and was not a calculated move. You can’t smell yourself, after all, and the only person Hamilton is ever focused on is himself. Being considerate of others is not his strong suit. Not to mention, subtlety is really not the omega’s style. 

Case-in-point: trying to physically stop Thomas from leaving his office, like if he’s loud and stubborn enough everyone will do what he wants.

Resisting the tug of his curiosity, Thomas stepped around Hamilton and tried to escape once more. Hamilton grabbed his elbow. “Jefferson, I need to talk to you-”

Thomas snatched his arm away. “Hamilton!” he snapped. “My god, paragraph eight can wait until tomorrow. I’m going home!”

Hamilton reached out again and tugged on the cuff of Thomas’ coat sleeve. The action was so unlike him it gave him pause. “It’s not about paragraph eight,” Hamilton hissed.

“What?”

Hamilton glanced around, frowning. Most of Thomas’ staff had gone home, but there were a few stragglers who were trying desperately to act like they weren’t eavesdropping on their boss arguing with the White House Communications Director in a public hallway.

Hamilton has always been the subject of intense, judgmental scrutiny. The first omega to ever hold a White House senior staff position, and he's an unbonded, childless, promiscuous, loudmouth, upstart, immigrant, who most people find aggressive. Washington could  _ not _ have picked a more controversial appointment to his staff. He only gets away with it because he's brilliant and has the full, unwavering support of the president. The last thing he needs is Thomas’ interns talking about him to the press.

Hamilton stepped closer and lowered his voice, still clutching Thomas’ sleeve. “That was just a- a reason to-” He brought his free hand up to nervously grab his hair but remembered himself at the last moment. “ _ Thomas _ , I need to talk to you in  _ private _ .”

In that horrifying moment, Thomas knew exactly why Hamilton was there. Why Hamilton got dressed up, came all the way down here, called him  _ Thomas  _ . He felt his face and ears burn. “Wow. No.” His horror must have shown on his face because Hamilton frowned even harder. Words started tumbling out of his mouth “That is so weird. I mean, it’s kind of flattering, but no thank you. I mean, I’m not interested.”

Hamilton dropped his sleeve like it burned him and he held his hands up like he was at gunpoint. “Oh my god,  _ no  _ . That is not- I mean- No!” For a moment they just looked at each other in horror.

He took a breath. “I really do need to talk to you about the bill.”

Jessica, bless her incredible timing, chose this moment to interrupt. “Your driver’s here, Mr. Jefferson.” 

_ Oh thank god,  _ he thought. “Thank you, Jessica,”  _ for giving me an escape route.  _

He glanced at Hamilton, intending to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was leaving. Hamilton looked… small and kind of sad. He was hunched, and biting his lip. “Please,” he muttered, “I have no one else to turn to.” 

Thomas had been ready to go home, have a glass of wine, and sleep for twelve hours. He hadn’t had the energy to fight, or debate, or even  _ look  _ at Hamilton’s smug face. But something about Hamilton’s pleading eyes made Thomas livid. His alpha instinct was rearing its head in the face of an omega who needed his help. 

“Fine!” he spat. 

Hamilton perked back up. That manipulative little  _ faker! _

“Jessica,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, “tell David it’s going to be a minute.” 

Hamilton hurried into his office, Thomas right behind him. He flung his briefcase back onto his desk, heedless of the laptop inside. 

Hamilton didn’t even flinch at the noise, and he doubled back to close the door.

“Why does Washington always send you when he wants something from me? It’s like he thinks he can irritate me into submission.”

“Nobody sent me this time.”

Thomas rolled his eyes so hard his neck popped. “What do you want, Hamilton?”

“I need this bill passed. It’s stalled right now, and I need it passed.” He moved Thomas’ briefcase to get at the papers he’d left on the desk. He clutched them to his chest, face earnest. 

“You’re talking about the bank bill?” he asked. Hamilton nodded and shifted on his feet nervously. “Why are you this wound up about it? It’s just a weird little regulatory bill. Those die in committee all the time.” 

Hamilton puffed up his chest. “I wrote it.”

Thomas sighed so hard it almost hurt. “Of course you did.”

“It needs your support. If you support it, the other moderates will fall in line. Madison, Woodhall-”

“No.” Jefferson leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms.

“Okay, while that’s a compelling argument, I was really hoping for a little bit more back and forth. Is that all you really have to say?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “No, I will not support that bill.”

Hamilton huffed, “Why not?! It doesn’t violate any of the major Republican Party stances, it doesn’t threaten you or Virginia in any way, it’s  _ reducing  _ certain banking regulations. Look right here, where it says-” Hamilton thrust a couple of the pages towards Thomas, who took them and promptly dropped them in the garbage. 

Hamilton squawked. The mean little thing in Thomas’ chest purred.

“I can’t support it. Word has come down from on high, we have to object to anything y’all want. Doesn’t matter what it is. You can’t come down here anymore looking for compromises from the moderates, the answer is going to be no.”

“And you’re okay with that are you? Total gridlock for the next  _ two years _ ?” he cried. No actually, it made Thomas sick. “It’s not the way things are supposed to work! We’re supposed to be making the country better!” 

He circled back around his desk to give himself a moment. “I don’t know what to tell-”

“I didn’t know you were a coward!”

Thomas thought his patience was at its end already, but apparently it could stretch even thinner. He clutched his desk to keep from leaping over it and throttling Hamilton. “Fine! Do you want to know what I think? Even if I could help you I wouldn’t. It’s a bad bill. It is way too long. It looks like you’re trying to hide something in all that circular language.”

“It is not circular! Or too long! It’s exactly as long as it needs to be! It’s thorough and precise!” He gestured wildly.

“It needs to be about fifty thousand words shorter.” Thomas was starting to get his second wind. He had forgotten how much fun it was to wind up the other man.

“Fifty-” he sputtered. “That’s half of it!” 

“And another thing, it puts an outrageous demand on an already strained system.”

“No, it utilizes a system that’s already in place to-”

“Also, if you really want bipartisan support, you need to remove the clause about omegas.”

Hamilton looked thunderous before, but suddenly he looked downright deadly. “I will not,” he growled. “That clause removes a century-old system of oppression.”

Thomas shrugged. “You wanted my opinion.”

“I want your  _ vote.” _

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You can’t have it! Just wait until the next time you have a congressional majority. That’s apparently how it works now. My god, Hamilton, learn some tact! You stormed in here demanding my help, you’ve shouted at me, and you’ve argued with every one of my suggestions. You can’t just strong-arm everyone into doing whatever you want. You’ll never get elected if this is the most diplomatic you can be!” 

Something he said struck Hamilton hard. He looked gutted, and sounded hollow when he said, “I’m never going to get elected. That’s why I need to pass this bill.”

Thomas grimaced. “Oh, for- I didn’t mean right now, obviously. I meant that in the future, you need a good lesson on how to talk to humans beings, not that-”

“No. I’m retiring,” he spat like it was the filthiest word he knew.

Thomas surprised himself by laughing. It was a deep, belly laugh. “Sure from the White House staff, but we all know you'll move on to something else. The House maybe? Hamilton, you and I both know you're never going to truly retire. You're going to die at age 97 on the Senate floor after thoroughly dressing down Congress.”

Hamilton collapsed into the chair by the desk like his strings had been cut. “No, I’ve got two years.” Thomas opened his mouth to refute such a blatant lie, but he plowed on, “I'll never be able to successfully win any election, because that requires people to like you.  _ Nobody  _ likes me. No. I am unelectable. If I’m going to make my mark, I’ve got to do it now, while I’ve still got Washington backing me. Even if all I can do is write a weird little bank bill.” 

Thomas feels ice crawl down his back, and even though he's never even considered it before, he suddenly knows it’s true. There's a handful of omegas in congress, but every single one is cute. Wholesome. Quiet. Every single one has a wife or husband and a gaggle of children. Hamilton has none of those things. He has a loud mouth, and huge opinions, and an inability to keep those opinions to himself. Most damning of all in the court of public opinion, he has a list of ex-lovers as long as his arm. He's not the kind of omega people like to see on TV.

“Moreover, I have very few positive connections. There is no one else who would be willing to hire me after we’re done in the White House. I make enemies  _ everywhere _ I go. I have what I have because  _ Washington _ trusts me. He’s seen what I can do. I've worked for him for  _ twenty _ years. And in the beginning, I even had to fight for  _ him _ to give me my due. I've been clinging to his coattails. I may be able to get some bullshit job to pay the bills after our term ends, but probably never in politics again, and definitely never somewhere with as much influence as I have now. I have fought tooth and nail for every single thing I have, and I've reached the end. I've peaked, and there's nowhere else for me to go. No, when George retires, so do I.”

Thomas feels the world shift beneath his feet. He'd never even considered Hamilton's future. He's never given a thought to how his gender might affect his career. He just assumed he'd always be hanging around DC, stirring up trouble, and bothering everyone within hearing range. And if he'd been a beta, or hell, an alpha, Jefferson was positive Hamilton would be a thorn in his side until his dying day. But omegas get married, they have children, and then they leave the workforce.

He racked his brain for an omega that's over 40 still working in DC. He comes up with that same tragically short list of senators and representatives he'd thought of earlier. He thinks about the secretaries and assistants and baristas he sees around town. Every single one is a cute young thing, flirty and sweet the second they catch on that he's an unbonded alpha. Where do all the omegas go? 

Surely they're not all chained to their stoves. They run charities and volunteer at hospitals, but are never on the payroll. They hang demurely on the arms of the people he rubs elbows with. They are mothers, PTA members, and soccer team chauffeurs. His own mother had never worked a day in her life.

But what if she had wanted to? She was brilliant, always keeping his father on his toes with their lively dinner debates. Would she have been happier with a career? How is this never a question he'd asked her when she was alive? How is this not a question he'd asked himself? 

He's suddenly ashamed that he's 45 years old, and he just learned something so new and so big. He doubts she could have just gone out and gotten a job, certainly not one worthy of her intellect. Not back then, but if what Hamilton is saying is true, then maybe not even now. 

Things are supposed to be different. It’s illegal to fire an omega when they get married or pregnant. It's illegal to discriminate against them during the hiring or promotion process. And before this very moment Thomas had never once considered the omega population's lack of upward mobility might not be due to genetic temperament and lack of desire. 

But Hamilton certainly doesn't seem inclined to find a mate and settle down. And it's not that Thomas forgets he's an omega, it's just that it’s a lot easier to lump him in with the betas and alphas he knows. He's irritatingly bursting with ambition and pride. And if Hamilton can't have the career he deserves, how many other omegas are trapped in lives they don't want? Not everyone has the strength of will to fly in the face of hundreds of years of social conditioning, middle fingers held high, verbal abuse cocked and loaded. Not everyone has the fortitude to claw their way to the top.

He has been blind. Worse than that, he's been stupid. He stumbled over to his desk chair and collapsed much like Hamilton had.

What was that clause in the bill about omegas? Something about removing the forty-eight-hour wait period on omega’s requesting large withdrawals from their bank accounts without an alpha or beta’s co-signature? And removing the bank’s ability to vet the purpose of the withdrawal and deny the withdrawal if they deem it irresponsible. 

Everyone knows that omegas are bad with money, and poor at resisting temptation. That law is there for their protection. To keep them from- 

The scent of distressed omega finally registers through his haze of thoughts, a citrusy tang overpowering his usual sweetness. Because Hamilton is an omega. The  _ omega  _ White House Communications Director wrote a comprehensive bill about bank regulations. And while the man himself is very controversial (and exhausting), with his fighting and his Twitter tangents and a mile-long list of exes, he has the ear and the unwavering trust of the leader of the free world. If the goddamn White House Communications Director wants to withdraw a substantial sum of his own money, he has to  _ ask the bank nicely. _

“Jesus, Jefferson.” Hamilton was smirking. Why was he smirking, didn’t he know Thomas’ whole system of beliefs is a lie? “I didn’t realize the thought of me retiring would be so upsetting. Are you gonna miss me?”

“I guess between you retiring, and New York legalizing gay marriage, I’m just astonished there aren’t pigs flying in the street.” Thomas knew it was a lame retort, but it was the best he could do in such trying circumstances. 

“New York legalized marriage equality?” Hamilton gasped, genuinely surprised.

It punched another belly laugh out of him. “Where have you been for the last week?” he asked, light-headed. “Did you miss all the people protesting outside my office?”

Hamilton looked around, like protesters were going to wander into his office at any moment. “What does New York have to do with you?”

“You know what?” Thomas asked, still laughing. “That’s what I want to know.”

They looked at each other a minute in silence before Hamilton huffed, “About my bill-”

Thomas pointed at him. “Make it shorter. You’re not proposing a new system of government, you’re regulating some banks.”

Hamilton squirmed. “And then you’ll support it?”

Thomas sighed heavily, still not ready to give in completely. “I suppose.”

“And you’ll ask Madison-”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Thank you.” The room filled with Hamilton’s warm, happy scent. His pheromones were more revealing than his expression. He would be a great politician if he wore dampeners like a reasonable adult. 

Thomas pointed at him again. “If I do this, I am seriously going out on a limb. You owe me.”

“Of course! What do you need?” He hopped up and gathered his papers. Thomas had to slap a hand down to keep him from grabbing things that weren't his. “Name it.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Hamilton nodded vigorously and started for the door. 

“Bring me the shortened version when you’re- And you’re already gone.” 

He sat dazed for a minute before Jessica poked her head in the door looking worried. “Do you need anything, Mr. Jefferson?” Bless Jessica.

“Yes. To go home.” He lurched to his feet and gathered his things for the second time that night. “Why are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone.”

They walked down the empty hallway, her heels clicking gently on the tile. “Oh, well, I heard what Mr. Hamilton said, and I figured I better stick around just to be sure.”

Of course. Better not leave an alpha and omega, both unbonded, alone together for too long. Especially if she’d jumped to the same conclusion as Thomas from Hamilton’s dramatics in the bullpen. She doesn’t know Hamilton at all, and she was trying to protect his reputation.

As they drew close to the exit, Thomas pulled her to a stop. Even with her scent dampened she smelled bright and sweet and comforting like roses, like most omegas, and she was slight and delicate. She’d always been excellent at her job, and Thomas hated that twice a year she had to take off for her heats. Mrs. Nelson, her regular replacement, did an alright job answering the phones, but she was really no match for Jessica’s well-timed “emergency phone calls” and much-needed cups of tea. And  _ nobody  _ could hunt down wayward congressmen like Jessica. “May I ask you a personal question? You don’t have to answer.”

She tilted her head and smiled. “Now, Mr. Jefferson, I’m a bonded lady.”

He knows. He’s met her alpha a hundred times. The man was not impressed by her working with so many alphas, and was always dropping off flowers, bringing her lunch, scenting her, and glaring at the interns. Honestly, Thomas thinks the man would rather she didn’t work at all, and he absolutely cannot live without her. Maybe it was time for another raise. He laughed. “No. It’s just, I was wondering. Do you like being an omega?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and her perpetual gentle smile was wiped away by utter surprise. 

“You don’t have to answer!”

“No, it’s just, what a question!” She smoothed her skirt, and considered him very seriously. “Of course I don’t like it. People always smelling you, like you’re a flower.” He felt his face get hot and tried to relax his expression like he hadn’t just done that very thing. “Old betas always watch me when I’m out by myself, like I’m coming to steal their sons.” She paused. “I wanted to be a lawyer when I was a kid, like Ally McBeal, but Papa said no. Those jobs are for alphas and betas. And we needed to save money on my education, so we could send my brother to a good school so he could be an engineer. Honestly, this job is a dream. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to really making a difference. If you’ll let me, I’m going to follow you all the way to the White House, Mr. Jefferson.” She smiled wistfully. It was so close to what Hamilton said about following Washington until he retired that Thomas almost couldn’t breathe. But Jessica was so  _ competent _ . He couldn’t imagine telling her she couldn’t do something that she really had her mind on. Surely she was just as remarkable as a child.

Jessica patted him gently on the arm, totally unperturbed. “I see I’ve given you plenty to think about. I’d better get home before Daniel starts to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow!” With a wave she was gone. 

As Thomas climbed into the black SUV that was waiting for him, he again longed for a conversation with his mother. Was she as blase as Hamilton and Jessica about her station? Was she happy?

He spends the ride thinking about her, looking for clues in the way she pushed his father towards promotions, the way she taught him to not judge a person by their scent but by their character, the way she cared for him and his sisters when they were young, the way she busied herself after they were gone.

The memories of her at the dining room table after dinner, posture perfect, purposely scribbling in an open journal bubbled up and he couldn’t shake the image. It was an almost nightly occurrence for as far back as he could remember. He’d asked her once why she didn’t have an office like father’s, and she laughed and told him she was just scribbling in a diary, and it seemed wasteful to have a whole office for such a silly thing. But she had kept each journal, and night after night she would write.

After she died, he couldn’t bear to throw out the shelves and shelves of leather-bound journals, nor could he bear to read them. So they were boxed up and forgotten. 

He decided it was time to dig them out.

* * *

Weeks passed before Thomas could get around to hunting down his mother’s journals. 

The fervor around his pro-marriage equality comments died down after Anthony Weiner is caught sending pictures of his knot to unsuspecting omegas,  _ again _ , and takes center stage in the news cycle.

He spent his time trying to strategize a break with the Republican Party’s policy of “Say no to everything. Don’t make any plans of our own, either.” It’s not the way the government is supposed to work, damn it! There was supposed to be compromise, and plans, and opinions! He couldn’t stand another moment of this wreck of a Congress. And, he was going to do something about it because he wasn’t a coward.

He knew he could get Madison on his side. His childhood friend was just as tired of the gridlock as he was. He had already talked him into helping get Hamilton’s bill out of committee and back onto the floor, as well as a couple of other little bills with some potential. He made lists of names of potential allies in his mind, and slowly formed a plan that amounts to mutiny against the Republican Party and the current political landscape. America has not had a true third party in a spectacularly long time, but maybe...

In the meantime, he studied Jessica and the other omegas around him carefully. He watched what they did and how they interacted with each other, how it differed from how they interacted with him.

He has no idea what to think about it all. Thomas isn’t used to being unsure. He had been blessed with a mind that seizes on new ideas quickly, explores and extrapolates them in seconds. He knows immediately what he thinks about almost everything that comes out of other people’s mouths. 

Now he feels unmoored like he’s on a ship and doesn’t know how to sail. 

In an effort to not call Hamilton up on the phone and grill him, he turned to the internet for answers. He ended up on a social-justice news blog and read until his eyes hurt. At first pass it all seemed like a load of nonsense. Extremist, alarmist, outrageous nonsense. But he tried to imagine Hamilton shouting parts of it at him, and that helped some. It didn’t help enough.

He had to wait for a recess so he could make the drive down to Monticello, his childhood home. 

He drove for three hours with his yowling cat in the passenger seat. “Man, you know how this works. We’ve been on this trip a million times,” he told the cat. “You gotta play it cooler than this if you ever expect to discover the laws of gravity.”

“Yowl!” argued Newton.

“I know,” he said, sympathetically.

Once he arrived, Thomas headed up to the huge attic filled with the faded memories of his parents. 

Mr. Rodney, the estate manager, offered to get a couple of the groundskeepers to go up and bring down the heavy boxes, but Thomas wanted to look first, before he dragged other people into the mess his mind had made.

The attic, like most of the house, was impeccably kept up. No speck of dust or rot or rat droppings to be seen, not on Mr. Rodney’s watch. 

Thomas tried to imagine how that conversation went with the cleaning staff. “You want us to clean  _ where? _ ” he asked a box of Christmas lights in mock outrage.

He located the boxes quickly, mostly because there are so many of them. For a moment he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the number. There was a pyramid of large Tupperware containers piled nearly to the ceiling, neatly labeled by date. The oldest ones he could see predate his parent’s marriage.

He popped the top off a container near his feet. The nostalgic scent of  _ Mom  _ flooded his nose, perfume and paper and ink and love.

He picked one at random and flipped it open. 

Should he be nervous? He was about to read his mother’s innermost thoughts, and all he feels is delight at a puzzle to solve. 

He knew that, somehow, his mother was going to fix it. This tight feeling in his chest. His bewilderment and disconnect. His mother was there for him once again, and she was going to fix it like always.

The cover was soft and worn under his hands, and her precise, tight cursive filled the pages from top to bottom and margin to margin. The first entry is dated and is 16 pages long. It does appear to be a diary, but Thomas spots the words “economic enslavement”, and he knows he’s in for an entertaining read. 

He sat on the rough wooden floor and began to read.


	2. Chapter 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by [ addicted_2_fandoms!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addicted_2_fandoms)

November 2016 (Two Years Later)

Alex was in that sweet spot where time doesn’t exist, and he’s not totally aware of what he’s writing. All he knows is that it’s _good_. The world disappears, most of his mind falls away, and his thoughts are blessedly quiet. That sweet spot isn’t easy to find, and harder still to maintain, especially in a place so rife with interruptions as the White House.

“ _Mon ami!_ ”

Alex blinked at his monitor, as his senses rushed back to him. The staff in the bullpen outside his office were laughing and eating something that smelled good, pizza maybe? The light in the ceiling was flickering again, his fingers were cold and stiff, his back hurt from hunching over the keyboard, and his boss, President Washington’s Chief of Staff, was leaning against the door jam watching him expectantly.

“What?” he asked, his brain still halfway tucked into the speech he was writing.

“You are going to see Thomas, _non_? You are going to be late.” Lafayette’s accented voice was warm and teasing. The alpha himself was tall and slender, with dark skin and soft eyes. He held himself with easy confidence but never overpowered other people with his body language the way many alphas did.

Alex scowled and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see why I should go at all. His secretary wouldn’t tell me what the meeting is about.”

Lafayette rummaged through the cabinets beside his desk looking for something, the puffball of his ponytail bobbing in and out of sight. “If the future President of the United States has summoned you, you go.” He emerged with a handful of ties, and Alex rolled his eyes. “He probably wants to thank you for the endorsement.” After holding the ties up to Alex’s face and carefully considering each of them, he draped the olive green one around his neck. “Brings out your eyes.” Lafayette winked at him, _actually winked_.

Alex groaned as the other man started tying the length of slink against his throat. “Laf, how on earth would he know it was my idea for Washington to endorse him? There is _no_ reason he would think it came from me.” Lafayette looked smug. “Lafayette, _how_ would he know?” Laf batted his eyes. “You _told_ him?” Alex pushed his hands away.

“And why not? We are friends, we talk about things. I had to listen to you badger Washington for weeks about it, it was bound to come up in casual conversation.” He shrugged, and tried to look nonchalant.

“I didn't badger him. I compiled a comprehensive argument, which I presented to the President. I would then remind him, from time to time, of his duty as the leader of the American people to be proactive and responsible in helping them choose the next generation of leaders.”

“You badgered him.”

Alex threw up his hands. “It's not my fault the prospect of John Adams being the president is so alarming! He's a weasel!”

“I know,” Lafayette patronized.

“And racist! And he doesn't smell right!”

“And he didn't get elected, _mon ami_ , please don't make me listen to a list of his faults. Again. You really shouldn't talk about the way people smell. It's not polite.” A wicked grin slid across his face. “Unless you want to tell me how you think Thomas smells like fresh-”

“Laf, please stop! Why are you so weird about Jefferson?” Alex started to take off the tie, but he stopped because it was his favorite, and it wouldn’t be inappropriate to wear a tie to see the president-elect.

“Because you think he’s cute, _mon cher,_ and I think it is funny. There is not enough fun happening in this White House, and I must make my own entertainment.”

Alex felt his ears go hot. “He’s not cute. He’s infuriating.” 

“And handsome!” Lafayette finished tying his tie for him.

“I am never telling you anything in confidence again.”

“We both know that is not true,” he said straightening Alex’s collar. “You should wear a suit coat. Do you have one?” He turned back to the cabinet that held his extra clothes. 

“I’m not wearing a coat! Every time you make me wear a coat it makes him uncomfortable.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “Now go! _Allez, allez_! Come find me when you get back, I want to know everything!”

Alex reluctantly grabbed his bag and left.

On his brisk walk to the building that housed Jefferson’s current office, Alex considered why he was so resentful of being summoned. 

Over the eight years of Washington’s administration they had seen each other often. It was true, that whenever Washington needed something from Republicans, be it a compromise, a deal, or just to feel out what they were up to, Alex got sent down the street to Jefferson’s office to talk to (read yell at) him.

Then two years ago Alex had needed help for his bill. The bill that was supposed to be his legacy. His mark on the world. So he’d let Lafayette talk him into wearing a suit coat and shaving, and he marched down there on his own accord. 

Jefferson had helped. He’d gotten the bill out of committee, got the ball rolling on bringing in other Republicans.

Then he didn’t stop.

He introduced legislation and negotiated with Democrats. He spoke up for federal marriage equality, he supported omega rights, he spearheaded a bill that addressed widespread homelessness of veterans.

His success seemed to unfreeze the other members of Congress. Votes were less, and less strictly along party lines. There was open negotiation on the floor.

He voted against his party, and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes with prompting from Alex and the Washington administration, but increasingly less.

Republicans went nuts. The party leaders criticized him, and when he said publicly that his party members were a bunch of petulant children, who were without direction or compassion, he gained their open hostility. 

Alex was sent down the street less and less. 

In just two short years Jefferson had completely changed the political landscape, the gridlock was over, and the American people were grateful. 

Alex had convinced (read badgered) President Washington to endorse Jefferson instead of the Democratic Nominee.

Last week a slew of openly independent and moderate candidates were elected along with America’s first independent president, Thomas Jefferson himself. For the first time, in a very long time, there was no party majority in Congress. 

Alex had watched it all with envy heavy in his gut. Because just like that, _Alex’s_ bill was suddenly all about Jefferson. His first move towards a bipartisan Congress. The first step towards cleaning the rust out of the cogs of democracy. The first step for a true Independent Party.

Jefferson didn’t need a favor. Jefferson didn’t need anything from Alex. He’d been outpaced. Sixteen years ago, they had been irritating each other on the same staff under Washington during his senate campaign and now Alex was searching for a cheaper apartment, getting ready to retire and fade into obscurity. And Jefferson was the president. 

So when he was summoned to the new President Elect’s office a week after his election, he was agitated to say the least. Wasn’t it enough that Jefferson had taken credit for Alex's legacy, and then gotten everything Alex had ever wanted out of life? Did he need it paraded out in front of him?

* * *

A sharply dressed young woman opened the heavy wooden door. Just beyond her was a small office stuffed with furniture too big for the space. Other than the thick fuchsia floor rug, most of it was tasteful. The walls were covered in bookshelves, and heavy drapes framed the windows. At the far wall was a large desk covered in neat stacks of paper. 

At the desk sat Jefferson. He was resplendent in a deep purple suit, his mass of dark curls catching the light. He was wearing dampeners, but Alex could still smell his fresh linen and coconut scent. He spent so much time in this room it was embedded in the walls and carpet. 

He looked up at his secretary's knock.  
  
“Thank you, Jessica, that will be all. Hamilton, please sit down.”  
  
Alex heard the door click shut behind him, and he took a hard look at Jefferson’s face, searching for anything that would clue him into the purpose of their meeting. However, all he saw in the other man’s face was cool professionalism. Instead of helping him relax, he felt his stomach twist. Reluctantly, he perched on the chair across the desk from Jefferson and gripped the strap of his messenger bag. They watched each other for a minute.  
  
“Jefferson,” Alex greeted in a clipped voice when he couldn't take it anymore. “What is this about?”  
  
“What? You're not even going to offer your congratulations?” Jefferson’s hair was as wild as ever, his beard as impeccably trimmed, and his smirk as enraging. Alex felt his face heat in fury.  
  
“Seriously? You called me all the way here so you can gloat?” Alex jerked to his feet. “What the hell, Jefferson? You don't have to knock me down a peg, I'm already at the bottom. You know I'm retiring, you know I'm going to be off the scene before you even get into the White House! What does dragging me all the way down here accomplish, except to feed your immeasurable ego? Did you need to gawk at the tragic little omega one last time?”

Alex could feel his chest heaving, and his voice raising, and he didn't try to modulate it all. If Jefferson wanted his opinion, he was going to let him have it. “After all that bullshit in your campaign about compassion and our fellow man, and look at you! The same capricious, arrogant scumbag. I know we had a rough start, and I know we’ve never agreed on anything, but I thought we were past this – this petty bullshit,” he spat.  
  
Alex has never been great at judging other people's emotions. He knows it’s one of his blind spots. It would be so much better if people would just say what they mean instead of hiding behind unspoken and ill-defined concepts like “manners” and “social conventions” and “don't correct people, Hamilton, it's rude.” 

He'd always appreciated that about this man. He'd never once, in the sixteen years he'd been acquainted with Thomas Jefferson, not known exactly what the other man thought because Jefferson has always been willing to tell him. Loudly. 

He and Jefferson have shouted at each other all over DC. In staff meetings, at cocktail parties, at ambassadorial events, and on one memorable occasion, on George Washington's doorstep. 

But as Alex really started to get a rhythm going for what was shaping up to be a truly spectacular meltdown, the look on Jefferson's face softened his rage. He was still smiling, but calmly. His smirk had gone soft, and his eyes were sparkling. He looked as if Alex had done something predictable and endearing. He doesn't look smug. Jefferson always looks smug. Weirder still, he doesn't respond at all to Alex's rant.  
  
He had to dig deep to get his anger back. “One more thing! Just because you're going to be the president-” Jefferson calmly started flipping through the pile of paperwork on his enormous wooden desk, and Alex deflated a little more. “It doesn't mean that you-” Jefferson slapped a crisp blue folder onto the desk right in front of Alex. 

He didn't even try to contain his curiosity. He snatched the folder off the desk and threw it open, reading it hungrily.  
  
It's an executive order. The title read “Omega Rights and Equality.” He sat back down so he could balance it on his lap and read it properly. As an executive order, it couldn't do much to revolutionize omega rights. For that you would need a dozen bills to go through congress. What it can do is choose which existing laws to actively enforce and explain how they would be enforced. As he scanned, he saw the order intended to emphasize omegas as a priority for the Jefferson Administration. It was mostly a grab for good press, but it was also pretty decently written. If it were to be signed, Alex had no doubt it would be a good first step towards helping people.

During his campaign Jefferson had consistently used the bullshit “all genders are equal” line. Though he was always harping on about equality and equal opportunity, he rarely brought up omegas specifically. That kind of political double talk infuriated Alex. It was usually meaningless filler intended to give omegas hope and to pacify alphas. But Jefferson had been dogged about his stance, and it seemed to strike a chord with the American people. 

In light of the other candidates' stances towards traditional family values and getting back to the good old days, Alex had done everything he could to make sure that Jefferson won. Including pester President Washington into endorsing him.

The idea of that particular Republican nominee winning had chilled him to the bone, and the best his own party could do was John Fucking Adams! It was like Washington got into office and all the other Democrats went on vacation. 

Alex knew that even though Jefferson was wrong about a lot of things, he was ultimately a good person and that he would do everything he could for the country. The evidence that Jefferson really did want the best for the people was right there in his lap.  
  
“Was that it? You didn't even finish your sentence.”  
  
Alex's eyes flick up from the page. “Huh?”  
  
“Just because I'm the president, it doesn't mean...?” He gestures for Alex to go on. Alex gets the distinct impression that he's being laughed at, and for once, he doesn't feel offended.  
  
“Oh. Um.” Alex scrambled for his previous chain of thought, but his eyes slip back down to the proclamation in his lap. He listens to Jefferson with one ear, the rest of his attention tearing through the dense writing. It's well written, if not slightly patronizing.  
  
“It needs work,” Jefferson says.  
  
“Yeah, no kidding.” He rummaged in his leather bag for his glasses. “First of all it reads like it was written by an alpha.”  
  
“I wrote it.”  
  
“Well there's your problem.” He jams his glasses on his face, and he flips to the next page. “You can't possibly expect to write a comprehensive bill about omegas if you're not one.”  
  
“Can you fix it?”  
  
Alex snatched a pen from the corner of the desk and started marking immediately.

* * *

  
  
Thomas watched him work for a while. He didn't mean for Hamilton to fix it right that second. But he didn't have any other appointments until after lunch, and he honestly expected to get yelled at for much, much longer. He wouldn't have too many opportunities for intentionally setting him off in the future. It might look unpresidential if he was always winding up one of his cabinet members. Shame. He turned such a pretty shade of pink when he yells. Thomas might have to position himself so that he gets to watch Hamilton yell at other people instead.

It’d been quite some time since he'd seen Hamilton in person. And even longer since he'd seen him chew on his pen. It's just as indecent as he remembers from when he was still on Washington’s staff. He jabs and slashes at the paper, like he wields a knife, not a writing utensil, only to bring the weapon to his mouth where he strokes it gently across his bottom lip. The tip just barely dips between his teeth before it's massacring another sentence. He's still flushed from his outburst. He looks bright and alive, and Thomas can't help but think it looks good on him. It's certainly a lot better than desperate and maudlin like he'd been when he’d come to beg Thomas’ help two years ago. The night Jefferson started asking himself real questions. 

He looked older, though, lines are beginning to take shape around his eyes. The thin wire frames perched on his nose would add an air of dignity if they weren't so crooked. It looked like one of the earpieces was bent or broken. And no wonder, with the way he handled them.  
  
Thomas tried to ready himself for round two. Speaking with Hamilton was always a wrestling match. Each man struggled for control and if Thomas was not careful the other man would easily pin him down. 

He had correctly predicted the conclusions Hamilton would jump to early in the conversation, and he was relieved he was able to distract him before he really got going. The easiest way to handle Hamilton was to keep him totally off balance. The problem came from trying to think of anything surprising enough to keep him on his back foot. 

Thomas decided the most surprising thing he could tell Hamilton, in this case, was the unblemished truth. Well. Most of it.  
  
Hamilton had been at it for almost ten minutes and he had his left hand buried in his hair near his temple. He'd pulled out half his ponytail in the process. He was hunched over his knees so hard Thomas' back creaked in sympathy. Thomas decided to put him out of his misery.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“I honestly don't know where to start,” he answered without looking up. “It's simultaneously too broad and not comprehensive enough. I honestly don't know enough about the omega legislature that's already in place. I don't know where the holes are exactly, so I don't know which parts need more attention.” Thomas thought it was pretty clear from the concentration of scribbles which parts he thought needed attention. “I need to do some research.”  
  
“You don't know every piece of legislature about omegas by heart?” Thomas found himself teasing.  
  
“No! My life doesn't revolve around my gender!” Hamilton jerked upright, sitting tall and puffing his chest out, and ripping off his glasses.  
  
Thomas couldn't help himself and he said, “I find that surprising, considering you bring it up in every conversation. You just brought it up about thirty seconds after coming into my office.”  
  
Hamilton puffed up even more and opened his mouth in righteous fury. The effectiveness of his glare was ruined by his mussed hair and dot of blue ink on his chin. Thomas predicted another long-winded speech about how the toxic nature of their contemporary culture never allowed Hamilton himself to ever forget he's an omega, so why should anyone else? 

While that might have been entertaining and probably educational, he had a more pressing issue at hand. He decided another redirection was in order. “Do you think the statement is salvageable?”  
  
“It sort of depends on the time frame we're working with. How quickly were you hoping to sign it?”  
  
“I'd rather hoped it would be the first thing I signed in office.”  
  
“But!” he choked, distraught. He gestured at his markings. “That's only in two months!”  
  
“I'd settle for any time in my first one hundred days.”  
  
The other man grew still and thoughtful for a moment. He tossed the folder down on his desk in disgust. “You want me to help you write an executive order, on legislation I have no official training for. Am I the only omega you know that can string two sentences together?”

“Before Washington endorsed me, I wasn’t polling high enough to even be a real contender. A little French bird tells me that endorsement really came from you.” Hamilton shifted and looked a little like he might throw up. Who would have thought trying to thank him would make him so uncomfortable? Thomas could never resist a chance to really bother him so he mustered up every ounce of gratitude and sincerity he had and injected into his voice. “You won me the election.” Hamilton squirmed and glanced around like he was looking for an exit route.

“I didn’t do it for you. John Ada-”

“I know.”

“Then what am I doing here? I’m going to be gone as soon as you’re sworn in.” Hamilton demanded.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was under the impression you don’t want to retire.”  
  
Hamilton's eyes flashed in anger. “I don’t!” 

“I had originally considered a position on my writing staff, but I thought it might be kind of plebeian after Deputy Communications Director,” he began. He felt a curl of satisfaction as Hamilton's face transformed yet again from outrage to confusion. “Then I considered an advisory position, which honestly, I don't think the country would survive if we spent that much time together. So I thought I’d better move you to another building entirely, which left me with the Secretary of Civil Liberty.” Hamilton gaped. “I think considering it's a position dedicated to gender rights and race equality, it's abhorrent Alphas have dominated the position since its inception.” 

Before the 1900s, every aspect of a person’s life was determined by their first and secondary genders, their social class, their skin color. Castes were rigid and impossible to change in one lifetime. The Department of Civil Liberties was established in the early seventies, after fifty years of riots, and protests, and unrest. First there was the Beta Suffrage Movement in the early 1900s (but only if you were a white male), then female betas were next. By the time Martin Luther King Jr. was marching from Selma to Montgomery, there had been so many riots and protests and boycotts, that it was becoming unmistakably clear that something needed to be done. When a riot broke out at the Stonewall Inn, the Department was on its way to becoming a part of the president’s cabinet. Rather than waiting for the next group to organize and cry their needs, The Department of Civil Liberties was formed to proactively seek equality for all American people.

Well, that’s how Thomas saw it. A lot of people said it was formed to shut everyone up. 

The Department and the Secretary had very limited power. They served more as an advisory to every other department, to investigate and clarify how different laws and policies will affect different classes of people. And, of course, to advise the president where his focus is needed.

Thomas intends to give the position more teeth.  
  
“You want to give me a cabinet position?” Hamilton asked with the same intonation someone might say, “You want me to pick your nose?” Then he looked at the folder. “Because I'm an omega. You do know that I have very little experience in civil rights law, right? Am I the only omega you know?”  
  
“Let me be clear, Hamilton.” Thomas leaned forward and pressed his hands to the desk. He could never resist a little dramatic flair. “I'm only going to say this once.” Hamilton leaned forward, his eyes wide. “You may have thought my campaign promises were bullshit, but I intend to rebuild this country. I am this first Independent president ever elected, and I intend to build a bipartisan cabinet. Our people are tired of the fighting. They're scared of the Alphas Supremacists marching in the street. A third of our population is undereducated, underemployed, and underrepresented. Our people are done with congress. They're done with the fighting and the bullshit. So am I.  
  
“I am offering you this position for two reasons. One is because I cannot, in good conscience, place an alpha in that seat. Even the most forward-thinking alpha will never be able to do the job I need them to do. I need a beta or an omega for this position and for as many other positions as I can fill. And honestly there are not enough of you in Washington for me to let something as petty as personality differences, stop me from picking the right person for the job. I need a fighter. I need someone who will fight for the people. Someone who will fight me, who will tell me _no_. Because I am going to be wrong about these things because like you said, I am an alpha, and an alpha cannot write a comprehensive bill about omegas. So I need someone who can tell me what I've missed. Can you think of another omega or beta, currently in DC, who could fill this role better than you?”  
  
Alexander was wide-eyed and leaning forward, hanging onto Thomas' every word. He struggled for a moment and said, “Burr? We interned at Washington’s firm together. He was a phenomenal lawyer, and he actually has experience with civil rights law.”  
  
“Do you think he could look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong? Do you think he would fight for our people?”  
  
Strangely, Hamilton giggled. “Not a chance.” Thomas started to feel the first thrill of victory. Hamilton's body language was open, and he was looking confident for the first time since he walked into the office. His scent evened out to something more relaxed and pleased.  
  
“The second reason I am asking,” and this is the part that hurt Thomas the most to admit, “is because I need you. I need you in my cabinet meetings, I need you advising the other cabinet members, I need you arguing with my staff and keeping my writers on their toes.” Hamilton looked as self-satisfied as Thomas' cat ripping at a toy with his teeth. 

“You are so irritating and exhausting, but I _cannot_ in good conscience let your mind go to waste. I need you here.” _Where I can keep an eye on you,_ he leaves out. Thomas shudders to think of the trouble a bored Hamilton with no oversight would get into. “Not god-knows-where, whittling away your twilight years in a rocking chair.” 

It actually hurts him to think about Hamilton cooped up and restless. Not able to instigate any _real_ change. Not able to do anything except live off of his savings and write, and write, and write. And as long as he can hold a pen, he’s a danger to himself and others. Better to keep him close, and direct his energy into something useful. 

“I’m more qualified to be Secretary of Treasury.”

Thomas was surprised into laughing and he found he couldn’t stop even though Hamilton was still talking. Five minutes ago this man thought that he was destined to live the rest of his life in obscurity, and he thought Jefferson was the kind of person that would rub his face in it. And yet, he didn’t even blink before trying to negotiate his way higher up the food chain. “My background is in economics and I practiced financial law with President Washington. I had an impeccable record.”

“Oh my god,” Thomas wheezed.

“I won ninety percent of my cases, well more like eighty-five. Okay, seventy-five. And I don’t know if you remember this, but I argued before the Supreme Court.”

“Hamilton, stop, you’re killing me.”

“ _Boyd v. New York_? That was me. There has never been an omega cabinet member at all, so no matter which position you appoint me to, you’ll be making huge strides to-”

Thomas finally gathered himself enough to interrupt him. “You absolutely cannot run the Treasury Department.”

He huffed, “I could too! I’d-”

“I know what your positions are on economic policy, and, _no_ , you cannot run my Treasury Department. I am offering you the Civil Liberties Department, no other. That or a position on my writing staff, _under_ my Communications Director.”

Hamilton considered this seriously. “I suppose Secretary of Civil Liberties is adequate,” he sniffed, face haughty but scent still pleased.  
  
”Yeah?”

“It doesn’t hurt that the primary job requirement is to argue with you.”  
  
Thomas growled low and soft in his throat, “Not the primary-” Hamilton snatched up the folder again, triumphant.  
  
“I have to go, I have so much work to do.” He started muttering to himself and walked briskly away.  
  
“Hamilton!” he called. “We still need to-”  
  
Hamilton waved back at him with his nose stuck back in the folder. “I'll call you.” He bumped into the door frame on his way out.  
  
Thomas sank, boneless, into the back of his chair. He reached up to touch his hair, surprised to find it exactly as he'd styled it. He felt like he'd been blown around by a storm. He was still staring into space, smiling, when Hamilton poked his head back around the corner. He still had a rat’s nest on one side of his face. “I'm sorry I called you a capricious scumbag,” he said, not sorry at all. “Congratulations, Mr. President.” And then he was gone again.  
  
“Hamilton, fix your hair!”

* * *

“John,” he breathed into his phone, “I’m in the Twilight Zone. I have been abducted by aliens and everything I’ve experienced today has been an elaborate illusion created by their mind control devices. John. _John_ , the world is in danger.”

“Alex, man, what the hell?” the voice on the other line asked. 

“I need you to sit down for me.”

“Because of the aliens?”

The Mall was fairly empty for a Thursday at lunchtime, but small groups of tourists and people in dark suits still bustled around him. The cool wind whipped at his hair and he clutched his phone to his ear. He could have taken a more direct route back to the White House, but he needed a moment to collect himself.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Oh for-” There was shuffling at the other end of the line. “I'm sitting down,” John said. “Please get to the point, I'd like to go back to work. We have court in a couple of days and I need to get this done.” Incredibly, after being raised in a cold household, John grew up kind. His father was a mean, rigid man. John played nice long enough to use his father’s money to get his degree and then decided the best way to say “fuck you” was to use that expensive law degree to work at the Southern Poverty Law Center, all the way down in Montgomery.

“I am not going to be able to come visit you in February like we planned.” Alex wandered over to a bench overlooking the Washington monument. There was a gaggle of teenagers and their teacher taking perspective pictures to look like they were stepping on it or pushing it. They looked so normal. Like the sky wasn’t falling. Alex sat down on the bench to watch them.

“What? Why not?”

“I'm, not going to have time.” Alex hesitated, a plan forming while the words were spilling out of his mouth. “I might need you in DC for this, John. I’m a little out of my depth here.”

That was the wrong direction to go with this conversation. John had pulled him out of far too many sticky situations to not react strongly to such a declaration. “What have you gotten yourself into this time? Are you safe?”

“I'm fine, please calm down. I got a job.”

“A job?” John rolled easily with Alex’s change of tone. John rolled easily with everything, it was part of his charm. “I didn't know you were looking. I thought you were going to take some time off.”

“I wasn't looking.” Alex took a deep breath. “Jefferson’s going to appoint me Secretary of Civil Liberties.”

The phone was so quiet Alex pulled it away from his ear to check that they were still connected. 

“WHAT?!” John shrieked. 

Alex huffed, “I know, right? I just got out of a meeting with Jefferson.”

“Thomas Jefferson?! _Thomas_ Jefferson? The _President_? Why are you only now being informed? He should have given you notice weeks ago! You’re never going to be ready in time, you only have two months! Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate prank? Did you sign any paperwork?”

“It’s not a prank. After I left his assistant chased me down and gave me a bunch of phone numbers and a list of people who are going to be calling me.”

“What do you think he’s after?”

“I don’t think he’s after anything. He seemed… weirdly sincere.”

John whistled low. “Secretary Hamilton,” he said as if feeling it roll around in his mouth.

Alex got a shiver up his spine that had nothing to do with the brisk air. His heart was going to beat out of his chest. “John, do you have any idea what this means? How much I’m going to be able to get done?”

“Okay, slow your roll a little. Civil Liberties is a pretty powerless department. Most of what it does is advise everyone else.”

“Exactly. It advises _everyone_. I’m going to have the ear of the whole cabinet. Of the _president_.” It could be argued that he had the ear of the president now. He saw Washington almost daily and could sway him in one direction or another with a compelling enough argument. Washington and Lafayette seemed to value his advice. But usually only when it came to things that fall under the purview of the communications department. Whenever he tried to weigh in on topics of policy, he was dismissed. 

Though Washington had gotten much better over the years, Alex could still detect a hint of condescension in his voice when he told Alex to stay in his own lane. Over the years, Alex and Washington had been locked in a battle of old-fashioned manners versus Alex’s bitter hatred of niceties that didn’t do anything but demean him. 

When Alex had first started at Washington & Associates as an intern, Washington would stand whenever Alex walked into the room. He had called him _Mr. Alexander_ and _son,_ like he was in kindergarten, even though he referred to everyone else in the office by the last name alone. He made another intern walk Alex to his car at night and was almost aggressive about opening doors for him. 

He wasn’t overly critical of Alex’s work. He’d never made a move on Alex, or tried to get Alex alone, and had fired a beta who wouldn’t take no for an answer within earshot of one of the partners. 

It was a far friendlier environment than law school had been. 

So Alex figured it was probably the best he could expect and he had tried to get used to it. But one night after he’d been in the library for twenty-four hours researching a case, Washington had called him son. _Three times_. 

This alone wouldn’t have been enough to set Alex off, but he had done it while insisting that Alex needed to go home, even though he wasn’t telling O’Malley and Miller, his fellow interns _and alphas_ , that they should do the same. Then he promptly walked all the way around a table to open the door for Alex, and suddenly Alex couldn’t take it anymore.

The shouting match and the very, _very_ long conversation that followed it was a tale told in the halls of Washington & Associates for years to come. 

Since then, Washington had tried, but he was almost seventy now and those things aren’t easily changed. Washington hadn’t called him Mr. Alexander in almost twenty years, but he rarely managed to call him Hamilton, even now. Instead they had compromised, and he simply dropped the _mister_. 

But when he was telling Alex that he appreciated his passion, but his opinion was not needed at this time, Alex could still hear it. It was lurking around behind his words, hidden in his tone of voice. 

But now. _Now_ he was going to be able to influence policy and the Jefferson Administration. He was going to be able to _get shit done._

“I’m going to make Puerto Rico a state,” he vowed.

John laughed at him, the asshole. “Alex, man, maybe start with something that looks a little self-serving. We all know that being from Puerto Rico is the only thing stopping you from running for president.”

Alex rolled his eyes so hard he popped his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the _only_ thing stopping me.” 

The school teacher was giving him a stink eye and ushering her kids away from him, so he figured he’d better move along. “Listen, Jefferson wrote this executive order about omegas in the workforce and he asked me to work on it. I-”

“Are _so_ not a civil rights lawyer and you need me in DC, got it. You think you’ll need me on a temporary or permanent basis?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“I'll check out my work schedule and see how soon I can hand in my notice. You weren't kidding about being out of your depth. He should have made you Secretary of Treasury.”

“That's what I said!”

They were quiet for a moment, and Alex enjoyed the sun on his face and the support of his friend in his ear.

John whistled again. “Jefferson appointed _you_. You were right. The only rational explanation is body snatchers.”

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time Thomas and James Madison were wrapping up their meeting. Madison had briefed Thomas on the status of the transition. Their teams had been ready to burst into action the moment he was elected, and everything was going smoothly. Staff was being hired and trained, his people were being educated on the minutiae that came with running a country, and tomorrow Thomas had a whole day of meetings with his team to discuss policy strategy. When it was time for him to take office, they were going to be ready.

Thomas was stretched out in his chair, feet on his desk, a report in his lap. He squinted at the paper. Why did the text have to be so small? He turned on his desk lamp and held the report closer to his face.

“You need glasses,” Madison said as he’d said a thousand times before.

“No I don’t. It’s just dark in here because the sun’s going down.”

“Mmh hm,” he agreed with the tone of someone who does not agree. 

Madison was surprisingly large for a beta. With deep brown skin and broad shoulders, he could have been an imposing figure. However, his gentle demeanor and soft voice negated any confusion about what sort of man he was. He was a consummate friend, turned colleague turned, running mate. Thomas had no doubt he’d be the consummate Vice President as well.

Thomas dropped his feet to the floor and stretched. “You want some dinner?” he asked, walking a slow lap around the room to stretch his legs. Despite his cramped legs he felt good. His people were working well together, they were ahead of schedule, and his office still smelled like pleased omega because, like usual, Hamilton hadn't been wearing scent dampeners. 

“When I came in, Jessica said she would send for something.”

“That's too bad, I wanted to walk. I have been sitting far too much. If this is what it’s like to be President, I’m going to get _fat_.”

“You’re too vain to get fat. You’d sooner have a Bowflex in the oval office than let that happen.”

He pretended to consider. “I guess gym equipment isn’t very presidential. Probably would lessen the impact of the office.” He flopped down onto his couch and propped his feet up on the low table.

“Jessica said Hamilton was here today. What did he want?” Madison had a certain tone of voice he used when talking about Hamilton. It was cold and snide. Like Hamilton’s name itself was an insult. “Was he looking for another favor?”

Thomas took a deep breath. “I asked him to come. I offered him Liberties Secretary.” Madison's face turned from cranky to downright thunderous. His jaw clenched visibly. 

Thomas said, “I know you hate him, but listen-”

“I thought Burr was our guy,” Madison said steadily like he was using a lot of effort to keep his voice even.

“Burr was on the list, but-”

“There were two names on the list, Thomas. And you hate Hamilton, so I assumed.”

Thomas shrugged. “Burr’s not right for this position.”

“He’s far more qualified than Hamilton,” Madison said, voice deadly, “He has more experience, he’s level headed, and more importantly he’s our guy!”

Frustration hummed through Thomas. He paced back to his desk, feeling unusually defensive. “He’s not _right_ ,” he hissed. “He’s too willing to compromise.”

“You mean he’s a good politician.”

“No I mean, he’s not right.” Thomas struggled to find the right words to express the feeling in his gut when he decided on Hamilton.

“I already told Burr he’s our guy.”

Heat burned in his stomach and he saw red. “You didn’t,” he said through gritted teeth.

“We needed his connections during the campaign.”

Thomas felt the rumbling of a growl beginning in his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to will it away. 

“Don’t you remember how miserable he made you when you had to see him all the time? Because I do. I had to hear _all_ about it,” Madison grumped. “It’s not too late to withdraw your offer to Hamilton.”

The growl erupted from his chest, loud enough he felt it vibrating through his whole body. Anger swelled in him, demanding action. Almost without his consent, his arm swept across the desk and his laptop crashed to the floor. A sharp burst of pleasure shot through him, and he raised his arm to do it again aiming for a pile of papers. Before he let loose, he caught sight of Madison, arms crossed and unimpressed.

“Really? You’re pulling out the I’m-a-Cranky-Alpha card?”

 _No, I’m pulling out the I’m-Going-To-Be-The-President, My-Decision-is-Final card_ , he wanted to say. But his vocal cords were still growling, quieter now, and all he could do was collapse into his chair and drop his head in his hands until the noise puttered out.

“I haven’t seen an outburst like that since we lost Iowa.”

Thomas sighed and scratched his nails along his scalp. Now that the rush of anger had passed, all that was left was embarrassment. Talk about an overreaction. 

“This is exactly the reason no one wanted an unbonded Alpha in charge of the nuclear weapons. You can’t lose control like that, Thomas.”

“I know,” he said to his lap.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air until Madison spoke, “You’re not telling me something about Hamilton. What’s going on?”

Thomas finally looked up at his friend. He remembered when they were kids and he would boss Madison around. In the backyard, Thomas would take up a stick and he would become Commodore Jefferson, Madison his loyal crew. Together they would sail the high seas catching pirates and saving fair omegas. Nevermind that Madison would have rather saved some betas, or better yet, stayed inside reading, Thomas had always been quick to convince him otherwise.

When they had gotten older, that dynamic hadn’t changed much. He was the ideas man, fluttering from one idea to another, but Madison had always been steel. Thomas dragged Madison along in his wake, but he had to talk Madison into moving an inch first. Thomas kept Madison from stagnating, but Madison kept him anchored.

“I don’t know if I can explain it.”

Madison sat back and wiggled as if getting more comfortable. He raised an eyebrow in expectation.

Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t getting out of this conversation, Thomas struggled for a place to start. 

“Hamilton's the reason I started reading Mom's journals.” Madison's gaze sharpened. For the last several years Thomas had cited his mother's journals for his dramatic change in political strategy, his change of stance on a slew of issues, and his ultimate rejection of the Republican party. In true Madison fashion, he had listened hard and thought long and ultimately allowed Thomas to sway him as well. All because of Mom’s journals.  
  
“He told me he was going to retire.”  
  
Madison snorted.  
  
“Yeah, I didn't believe him either. But he said some things that made me wonder about what Mom would say about it.” Thomas gazed out the window at the setting sun.  
  
Growing up, Thomas had thought he knew his mother. She was smart, and funny, and _so_ supportive of him. But it wasn't until he began reading her journals, that he came to know her fully, as a person, and not just as his mother. His home was piled high with hundreds of her journals, painstakingly labeled and organized by date. He'd been reading them for years, and he was nowhere near done.  
  
She had written extensively, almost daily, for over fifty years. They were mostly about her life, but there were also essays about world events and politics and art. There were letters to his father and him and his sisters that she never showed anyone. There were legal strategies planned out for his father to use in court. And plenty, of opinions about her status as an omega.  
  
He's not sure when he made the decision, but after a while he started marking the sections he wanted to publish. Jane Jefferson hadn't been heard while she was alive, but Thomas would make sure she was heard now. 

The thought of the same thing happening to Hamilton, to be unheard and forgotten, made his chest ache.  
  
“Hamilton told me- He said that he'd peaked. That he'd gotten as far as he could, and that no one else was going to give him a shot. Because he wasn't what people like in an omega.”  
  
“Why are you the one that has to give him his shot?”  
  
Thomas shrugged and grinned. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”  
  
Madison gave him a knowing look and pointed at him. “I think it's because he brought his little undampened scent down here and batted his eyelashes. You always give him what he wants eventually.”  
  
Thomas signed and looked at the ceiling. “I've known Hamilton a long time, Mads. He's crazy, but I trust him to do this job. You _know_ how important this appointment is to me.”  
  
Madison continued to scrutinize him, and in the way only Madison could, he intuited, “You don't trust Burr.”  
  
“No. And before you ask, I didn't say anything before now because I don't have a reason. I just don't. Whenever he talks to me I feel like I'm talking to an automated answering system, not a person.”  
  
Madison finally sighs and looks away. “You should have said something earlier.”  
  
On steadier ground, Thomas said, “Find somewhere else to put Burr if you need to. I don't want him for Civil Liberties.” He eased back in his chair.  
  
“Yes, sir. You know Hamilton's going to be a PR nightmare, right?”  
  
“That's not my problem. That's why I have a press secretary.”  
  
“I'll warn her.”

They shared a moment as each man thought about Angelica Schuyler trying to wrangle Hamilton into being more press-friendly. They smiled. 


	3. Chapter 02

Alex wasn’t sure what day of the week it was, but he knew it was after nine o’clock. Days of the week sometimes seem like extraneous information when he worked seven days a week. Frequently, he also lost track of the time of day as well, but John had yelled at him enough times in the last week that Alex now checked the time before he called.

John was still in Montgomery, wrapping up loose ends, so they’d had to do their planning over the phone. If John was not working or asleep, they’d been talking. One night they were up until three, despite John having court, bright and early the next morning. After that apparently very painful day, John instituted the No Calls After Nine policy.

Alex didn’t understand the problem. He didn’t sleep at all that night and went to work the next day, no problem.

Alex tried to not let his Communications duties slide, but he found himself working on his assignment in his mind instead of listening at meetings or when he had a moment to himself, working on it hidden away in his office. He was still working on President Washington’s farewell address, and he dealt with every issue that came with running the free world, but his mind was wholly dedicated to omega workplace reform, and the executive order.

He doesn’t think anyone can tell he’s been very distracted as of late. Well. His assistant could. She’d been getting increasingly agitated calls from people he won’t call back, even though his workload is relatively light.

Ever since the election, the scurry of the White House has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like everyone is just waiting for the end to come. There’s very little they can change now with so little time left. The goal now is to make sure there’s a country still here when the next administration moves in.

Alex’s goal is to make sure his executive order is _really_ spectacular.

He doesn’t feel bad about working on it when he’s supposed to be paying attention to the current administration. It’s still working for the American people, after all.

But all the meetings and the phone calls and the fires he puts out, really do cut down on his writing time. So he writes at work when he can, but he gets his best work done at night. There are no interruptions, and he can let himself sink into that space where he writes, and writes, and writes.

All of this to say, Alex hasn’t been sleeping, but it’s not impeded his ability to make good life choices. Not at all.

He’s working through a particular bit of wording that he’s been struggling with for days, and he’s almost got it. It’s at the tip of his fingers, but he can’t quite get it out onto his keyboard.

Jefferson’s writing is truly magnificent. It always has been. The purpose and efficiency of every word is astonishing. The way he cuts straight to the truest essence of his meaning is devastating. There have been whole paragraphs where Alex has dizzily thought, _I couldn’t possibly improve this. It’s perfect._ It made him want to punch Jefferson in his stupid, shiny teeth because Alex always thinks he could do everything better, and it’s hateful when he doesn’t.

So he was struggling with this part that’s particularly eloquent in Jefferson’s draft but is not quite perfect. Everything he tries to do with it turns it into a Frankensteinian monster. He needs to talk it out with someone, but no one is there.

He hasn’t talked to John since he left his office earlier today. He meant to call him an hour ago before it was past the No Calls deadline, but he looks up and suddenly it’s 9:45 and he has no one to bounce ideas off of.

He can’t call Lafayette, because he hasn’t told him about the nomination. He knows he’s been cagey since his meeting with Jefferson, but somehow he feels like if he tells someone other than John it’s going to get taken away from him.

They haven’t announced his nomination to the press yet because he hasn’t called back any of Jefferson’s people. That only adds to the surreal feeling.

He’s afraid to call anyone back because, while he knows it isn’t rational, he feels deep in his bones that they’re going to tell him it was a mistake and that Jefferson has revoked the offer.

More than that, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He _never_ gets a break. He _never_ gets anything without having to bend, and shout, and beg. He has to be twice as good as the next beta, to get half as much recognition.

But here comes Jefferson with his poofy hair, and his purple rug, and his successful presidential campaign, and he _offers Alex a job._ Not even a terrible, pity job. But a position where he can do good. Where he can be useful. Where he can build a _legacy_.

It’s everything Alex has ever wanted. He’s definitely not terrified. He is happy and excited. Not terrified.

He _may_ be working hard, but it’s not like he’s overcompensating. He is appropriately-compensating.

And it _could_ be that he can’t stop working because then he’ll have to think about what it’s actually going to be like. Being in charge. He’s never done anything other than work for Washington. He’s never been the boss.

And it was also _possible_ that tonight every single ounce of terror that he was absolutely _not_ feeling, has manifested itself as working through this one part of his assignment. Every _It’s not real_ , and _I’m going to fuck this up so spectacularly,_ and _they’ve got the wrong person_ , became, _I have got to get through this tonight._

There’s a vague and almost un-thought _or else_ on the end of that sentiment and Alex deftly puts that into the Not Thinking About That pile with everything else.

Instead, he comes to the completely reasonable conclusion that he needs to talk it through with someone.

Right now.

He can’t call John, because he will get yelled at again.

He’ll lose momentum if he calls Lafayette because Laf is going to need to know backstory and subtext and Alex’s feelings before he’ll consider helping Alex do the work.

Later when asked, he will swear that he made a perfectly rational decision when he packs up his research and heads to Jefferson’s house.

It’s not that Alex doesn’t have any other friends, it’s just that he knows where Jefferson lives. Also, he and John have laid out a pretty solid strategy for the next year or so and he does need to go over it with the man in charge. Also, if anyone should help him untangle the thoughts in his mind, it should be the man who wrote the original document. Also if they’re going to work together…

Alex lost track of his thoughts for a moment and when he came back to reality, thirty minutes had passed. He was on his bike, halfway to Jefferson’s, although he doesn’t remember dragging his bike down the stairs.

It’s possible he shouldn’t be riding his bike while distracted, but he needs to get this done.

* * *

A glass of wine in hand, reading on the couch, Thomas was planning on beginning his bedtime routine as soon as he could be bothered to remove a snoozing Newton from his lap.

It was a rare night when he got the chance to turn in early, and he could use a shower and some self-maintenance. His curls weren’t going to take care of themselves, and he had his complexion to think about.

A knock at his door startled Newton enough that he darted into the kitchen, scratching Thomas’ knee in the process.

A member of his security team was standing on his stoop. It was one of the new guys who was added to his detail after he was elected. He was an alpha, with a scent like a forest and powerful body language. He met Thomas’ eyes squarely and then glanced away politely in deference to Thomas’ status.

“Is everything okay?” The fact that the man was casually standing at the door and not throwing him to the ground, was a good indication that there wasn’t any real danger.

The man smiled ruefully. “Sorry to bother you, Senator Jefferson, but there’s someone here to see you. He’s not on the list, and I just wanted to check with you before I let him through.”

The list of pre-approved people was fairly extensive. People who were allowed to knock on his door included most of his senior staff, half the senators in Congress, and almost every member of his family (his cousin Jonathan did some time in the early nineties for fraud, and was, therefore, being watched very closely by the Secret Service).

“What do they want?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure exactly, Senator. He said something about the socio-economic status of oppressed people? Agent Brewster thinks he might be drunk.”

“A drunk wants to talk to me.” It began to dawn on him that being the president wasn’t going to be anything like he thought it would. It was going to be so much stranger.

“That’s just it, Sir. I don’t think he is drunk, just excitable. It’s Alexander Hamilton.”

Resignation settled over Thomas like a heavy blanket. He had brought this entirely on himself. Burr would have never shown up at his home in the middle of the night with no warning after avoiding Jefferson’s transition team all week. Burr would never be in such a state that there was confusion as to his level of intoxication. Burr hadn’t done anything to warrant his suspicion, but _no_ , he’d wanted Hamilton.

There was no one to blame but himself. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms.

“Let me guess. It’s an emergency.”

The agent looked uncertain for the first time. “He says it is, but he couldn’t really explain why to my satisfaction,” he said.

The fact of the matter is that he really doesn’t have anything else going on. Washing his hair seems like a petty excuse for not meeting with a future member of his future cabinet, even if it is the middle of the night. “You better send him in. It’ll be worse if I try to ignore him, he’s astonishingly persistent.”

“Yes, sir.” The agent spoke into his earpiece for a moment, then looked back at Thomas for further instructions. It was honestly amazing that he had listened to Hamilton at all. A rambly omega out by himself at night coming to see the president-elect unannounced? He’s certain his security team is full of people who would have sent him packing.

“What is your name?”

“Tallmadge, Sir. Benjamin Tallmadge. You’re going to be seeing a lot of me, sir. I’m assigned to your personal detail.”

“Thank you, Tallmadge.”

“Yes, sir.” He started to turn away but glanced back over his shoulder. “You want me to add him to the list?”

Thomas sighed. “You better. I have a feeling this is the first of many unconventional meeting times.”

One of the black security SUVs pulled up to the house and Hamilton tumbled out, another agent right behind him. Hamilton tapped his foot, madder than Newton after a bath.

“Now, Mr. Alexander-” the agent was saying, placatingly.

“Are you not going to get my bike out of the back? I assumed you’d do it since I’m so frail I can’t even manage to lift my 15-pound bike into the car, nevermind that I carry it up four flights of stairs daily.”

“I’m not sure you should be riding in this state, Mr. Alexander. You’re very emotional right now. Why don’t you give us a call when you’re done, and we’ll give you a lift home.” The agent's patronizing tone was blatant enough to set off Thomas’ alarm bells. Nevermind the diminutive form of address he was using. It was old fashioned, but it was also in vogue with a certain kind of younger alpha. He opened his mouth to correct the man, but Tallmadge beat him to it.

“Give Mr. _Hamilton_ his bike, Johnson. And leave him alone, he’s a grown man.” Johnson frowned but did as he was told.

As Hamilton climbed his steps, the bike finally wrestled away from the agent, Thomas got a good look at him. He was an utter mess, drawn and pale, with deep dark circles under his eyes and an air of desperation about him.

It was no wonder one of the agents thought he might be drunk. He looked like he’d been on a three-day bender.

Thomas let him in and waved his thanks to Agent Tallmadge.

Hamilton propped the bike up, tracking mud and grass into Thomas’ pristine entryway. He threw his coat over the seat of the bike, and moved deeper into the house, trailing his sweet scent and clutching a bag. “Why yes, please do come in,” Thomas said, following Hamilton through his own damn house. He pulled out his phone and shot Madison a quick text, _Hamilton is at my house. Should I lock him in the basement until he signs the nominee paperwork?_

“So the thing about it is,” Hamilton begins mid-thought. “After the second child, it often becomes more expensive to put them both into daycare than it is to lose the income of the second parent.” He paced around the living room, eyes sweeping the room, but not ceasing in his speech. “Especially if the parent is an omega since they are paid less than other genders.”

“Where have you been? Madison said if you didn’t call someone back tomorrow, he was going to send out the search party.”

“Statistically, due to their high fertility rates, bonded omegas have between three and four children. Often one right after the other, which means-”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“We have to find a way to guarantee free or affordable childcare to every citizen. It’s the most direct way to economic equality.”

Thomas supposed that they were talking about this, whether or not he wanted to. “Sure.”

Hamilton stopped and looked at him, astonished. “You agree?” He looked wretched. Sweaty and breathless and wrinkled.

Thomas gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “It would certainly be expedient. But then again, the most expedient route to total economic equality is communism.”

He finally threw himself on the couch and dug his laptop out. “If you’re going to cry communism every time I suggest a federal program-”

“A nationwide, federally run childcare system is really-”

Hamilton rolled his eyes. The effort seemed to knock him off balance, and he swayed a little, further cementing his impression of someone who’s had a few too many. “I’m not suggesting we build daycares next to every post office. I’m talking about tax cuts, rebates, subsidies, approved locations.”

Thomas grunted, unimpressed. “That’s still a huge undertaking, and the American people are not going to consider it a priority.”

“John and I have been working on a few scenarios.”

Thomas only had a brief moment to wonder who John was before Hamilton was launching into a speech detailing a legislative itinerary stretching, as far as Thomas could tell, eight years. It was quite a vote of confidence for Hamilton to just assume Thomas would get a second term.

The plan was extensive and convoluted. Though, it may have just seemed convoluted, because every few minutes, Hamilton would get distracted by delving into the reason for a statistic or by giving Thomas an impromptu civics lesson, complete with visual aids. The aides were sometimes in the form of photos and slides on his laptop, and sometimes dramatic hand gestures.

At first, Thomas tried to let him talk without interruption. The sooner he let him finish, the sooner he would get to go to bed. But there were a few things he just couldn’t let go and before he knew it, they were deeply embroiled in enthusiastic debate.

Hamilton was his same irritating self and didn’t seem bothered at all that he was talking to the future president. Ever since he had been elected, people had been looking at him with stars in their eyes. It was weird interacting with someone, other than Madison, who was still acting like he was a normal person. Someone who didn’t call him “sir” with every breath.

Though, it did seem like he was making an effort to tone down the hostility a little. Perhaps because of Thomas’ newfound position, or perhaps from gratitude for the appointment, or maybe time and age had finally mellowed him a little.

When they got particularly heated about the validity of affirmative action programs, he thoroughly enjoyed watching Hamilton visibly bite back an insult of some sort while he waited in smug silence for him to continue.

He was surprised to find that he was enjoying talking with Hamilton. Though they had been constants in each other’s lives for years, they very rarely spoke long enough to delve into ideology and theoretics.

Hamilton had a crisp mind, and while only a week ago he had protested that he wasn’t qualified for this position, Thomas found his positions thoughtful, detailed, and well researched, if not somewhat cynical. Thomas was surprised that Hamilton was completely willing to admit when he had only recently learned something that informed his opinion. From the sound of it he had been doing an astonishing amount of learning since they had last spoken.

Thomas wondered if he _ever_ sleeps.

His enthusiasm for their conversation started to wane with his energy. Hamilton began to droop as well when they were discussing the likelihood of funding large scale studies on omegan reproductive biology.

“I don’t see why it needs to be disguised like that,” Thomas griped.

“We can’t change public opinion with a few laws. It just doesn’t happen that fast. Just because you and I know that omegas need safer, and more reliable birth control and heat control doesn’t mean that the stuffy white alphas in Congress and their stuffy white constituents know that too.” Hamilton yawned. “If we’re upfront about it, we’re going to get a major pushback. We have to claim it’s for the health of pregnant omegas. Everyone goes weak for pregnant omegas.” He yawned again.

“You should focus on educating the public. They just don’t know that it’s a problem.”

“Wow, you really believe that. Civil rights organizations have been calling for these studies for decades. They’ve been vocal, and they’ve been ignored. Everyone knows it’s a problem. But they’d rather heat cycles and pregnancy be couched in mysticism and superstition because it makes it easier to blame omegas when things go wrong, and it makes it easier to keep them at home.” As he spoke, Hamilton’s head seemed to get heavier, until he was leaning back on the couch.

“I just don’t know how that can be true.” Thomas thinks about how shocked he was two years ago when Hamilton first told him he was retiring. How he felt like scales were falling from his eyes. How after the shock was gone he was resentful, like someone should have told him sooner.

The bitter truth was Hamilton was right. Years ago, he’d heard the arguments for the very things that they’ve been discussing all night. He’d dismissed them then because he hadn’t wanted to listen. He’ll never be sure exactly what it was about that night that made him start, but he is grateful because it gives him a chance to fix it. Now he has to find a way to make everyone else listen.

He had a feeling he was going to get really sick of Hamilton being right.

“You have way more faith in the American public than I do.” Hamilton yawned again, and Thomas echoed him.

“You should go home. We can pick this up later.”

“No!” Hamilton jerked to attention. “I haven’t even shown you my draft of the executive order. Hang on.” He started digging in his bag again and pulled out a dozen handwritten pages.

Thomas groaned, “I’m going to make a pot of coffee.”

In the kitchen, he checked the time on his phone. He was shocked at the hour. It didn’t seem possible that so much time had elapsed.

He had a string of texts from Madison.

Madison:

_What do you mean, Hamilton is at your house?_

_Why is he there?_

_Please tell me he’s there to pull out and we can replace him._

_Text me when he leaves._

_Is he still there?_

Thomas responds, _He’s still here. He wants to talk about his plans for the job. My God, he can talk. I’m hiding in the kitchen._

He fills up the coffee pot, and his phone buzzes almost immediately.

Madison:

_Still? He’s a lunatic._

Thomas:

_Tell me about it._

_We haven’t even gotten to the executive order yet._

_I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep as president, but I figured it would be, you know._

_International intrigue._

_Bombs._

_Jetlag._

_I did not predict overeager cabinet members._

Madison:

_Should have gone with Burr._

They text back and forth while he waits on the coffee. He hangs out a little longer than necessary, but sooner than he’d like, he’s headed back to the living room, two mugs in hand.

The scene that greets him fills him with the kind of giddy relief that only happens after three am.

Hamilton was sprawled on the couch, one hand hanging over the side, clutching a printed document, the other was resting gently on Newton’s orange striped fur. The cat had climbed so far up Hamilton’s chest he was almost curled up on his neck. His tail flicks Hamilton in the nose. Hamilton frowns but doesn’t stir.

They are both dead asleep.

Thomas can’t put the mugs down fast enough. He snaps a picture and sends it to Madison. _Oh my god, he fell asleep._

Madison:

_You’ll never get rid of him now._

_I’m pretty sure you just adopted a stray._

Thomas:

_Send someone from the transition team first thing in the morning, they can grab him before he has a chance to escape._

Thomas abandons the coffee and heads straight for bed before Hamilton wakes up and starts talking again.

* * *

Thomas sends off a couple of texts before he falls asleep, alerting the appropriate parties to his plans for the morning, so he allows himself to sleep in a little. He’s the president (sort-of) and that means he can do what he wants.

When he gets up, he checks on his uninvited guest. And sure enough, Hamilton was still sacked out on the couch. His limbs were sprawled in every direction and his hair was everywhere. The document he’d been gripping in his sleep had fallen to the carpet and Thomas stooped to pick it up. It was the new draft of the executive order, neatly typed and annotated.

Newton circled his feet and headbutted his ankles, meowing for breakfast.

“Shh,” he told the cat. “You’ll wake up your new bed.”

“Yowl!” said Newton.

Thomas was showered, dressed, clothed, caffeinated, eating breakfast, and reading over the new draft of the executive order when Hamilton stumbled into the kitchen. He pulled out the chair next to Thomas at the breakfast bar, and collapsed, pressing his face to the cool marble. Thomas took pity on him and deposited a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Oh my god, how long did I sleep?” he asked from under a curtain of his hair.

“About five hours.” Thomas turned back to his reading.

“Five hours?” he said, sounding impressed. “I can’t remember the last time I got a whole five hours.” He was disturbed to hear that Hamilton considers five hours a lot of sleep. “I’m _so_ late for work.”

“Don’t worry about that. I took care of it. There are eggs on the stove. And toast.”

He picked his head up off the breakfast bar and frowned at the surface like he was confused.

He looked far better than he had the night before. The bags under his eyes had eased, and his stubble had grown enough that it actually shows against his tan skin. Like most omega’s. it was thinner and patchier than an alpha’s or a beta’s. But now it was grown in enough that it looked like stubble and not like his face was dirty. His scent was stronger than Thomas has ever noticed, more condensed. He smelled like grass and sunshine and summer. His eyebrows were pinched together over his large brown eyes, and his lips were pink and pouted. Deep brown hair fell gently around his face, although it was distinctly mussed on one side.

He looked soft and rumpled and Thomas wanted to touch him.

 _Oh no,_ Thomas thought in sudden horror, _he’s cute._

Now, Thomas was not blind. He’s always known Hamilton was attractive, but it had always been in a removed, intellectual way. He had symmetrical features and bright eyes and nicely shaped shoulders. But the disaster that was the rest of him usually cancelled those other things out.

There was nothing removed or intellectual about the little curl of want in his chest.

Completely oblivious to his stab of panic, Hamilton looks to his left, towards the dining room. Then he looks past Thomas at the small wooden table in the corner.

“What Pinterest nonsense is this?”

Thomas is so thrown by the question he looks around. “What?”

He gestures to the door to the dining room and the large wooden table therein, and then to the smaller kitchen table, and then to the breakfast bar, eyebrows raised, expression clearly stating, “You know what I mean.”

“What’s wrong with the breakfast bar?”

“You have a dining room _and_ a kitchen nook. Why on earth would you need a breakfast bar too in a house this small? You couldn’t possibly need all these tables.”

Thomas can only shrug in reply. His heart was still racing from his mind’s utter betrayal and he was scrambling to justify himself. _It’s just that he’s sleepy and kind of relaxed,_ he told himself. _Everyone looks cute when they’re sleepy. You don’t normally think he’s cute. Because he’s not cute._

“Do you use all of these tables?”

“Not really. I'm hardly ever here. The house came furnished.”

Hamilton nodded like he expected that response, pointed at the breakfast bar, and concluded seriously, “White people, who spend too much time on Pinterest designed this house.” His eyes danced in merriment and the corners crinkled just a little.

 _Oh no,_ thought Thomas as he started to laugh. _Cute._

Hamilton started a tirade enumerating all the different nooks that white people on Pinterest like: reading nooks, breakfast nooks, shady nooks in the woods. Thomas was helpless to do anything but laugh.

* * *

Alex was pretty proud of himself. It was barely nine am, and he’d already had a very productive day. He’d gotten a _ton_ of sleep, ate a huge plate of eggs, drank a gallon of coffee, and made Jefferson giggle.

Strangely, it was that last one that he was most proud of.

Alex hadn’t had much of an opportunity to see Jefferson laugh at anything but at Alex’s own misfortune. He usually had a mean, aggressive snicker that could cut right to the bone.

Jefferson laughing because he thought something was funny was a completely different beast. His eyes sparkled and his hair bounced. He kept looking away like Alex was too bright to look at.

Alex knew the feeling. Having Jefferson’s full attention had always been a heady feeling. It was rare that he met someone who could keep up with Alex when he was at full speed. On top of being exceptionally intelligent, Jefferson had charisma oozing out of his _ears_. One grin with his perfect, brilliant teeth and everyone in the room swooned. He could lean on a desk or a door frame in a way that perfectly accentuated his long torso and broad shoulders without ruining the lines of his immaculately tailored suits. Alex was 99% sure he practiced that move at home.

Although Alex mostly pretended he was immune to such things, he most certainly was not.

Last night Alex had gotten a taste of the bright spotlight of Jefferson’s attention. But he had been tired, and there had been far more important things to think about.

This morning it was different. He’d just woken up, and his first comment about the breakfast bar was due to his brain-to-mouth filter (such that it was) not being fully operational yet.

But when Jefferson was looking at him with his mouth curled like that, Alex had started to run with it to keep him laughing as long as possible. To bask in the light.

He sustained his ramblings through two cups of coffee and a plate of eggs that he was fairly sure Jefferson had made himself. When he finally ran out of things to ramble about, he looked around for inspiration.

His eyes fell on the paper by Jefferson’s plate. “My draft!” he exclaimed. “What did you think about the section on equal pay? That was the part I was really struggling with last night. I thought maybe the wording was too strong, but then again every time I tried to soften it sounded really passive. Which is the opposite of what you want when you’re writing about omegas because, of course, that’s the societal expectation.” Rather than wait for a reply, he said, “Hang on,” and ran to get his laptop.

When he returned, Jefferson had flipped to the section he was talking about, and was already talking. “I don’t think it’s too strong at all. This is one of the most important parts of the order.”

“Sure, but it’s completely unenforceable. How do you prove two people are doing the same work, at the same quality? This isn’t where we need to make our stand.”

And they were off. The night before they had been cautious, feeling one another out and testing each other’s boundaries and tactics. This morning they fell into an easy, flowing rhythm back and forth.

When they had worked together all those years ago, it had never been this easy. Back then, Alex had too many sharp edges, to work easily with anyone.

He had been stretched too thin, still raw from his break up with John, while being thrown headfirst into working Washington’s first senatorial campaign. Jefferson had been quick to criticize, to belittle, to correct. To remind Alex that, though he was only a few years older, he was more experienced, more worldly, more wealthy.

Alex thought maybe they had both gotten soft in their old age.

Soon there were marks all over his draft and he had to keep shushing Jefferson so that he could write something or another down.

His words were unblocked and they were flowing out of him again.

Yeah. Alex had had a good morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about politics I learned from The West Wing, the first five episodes of Madam Secretary, and generally from Being An American. I will not be doing further research because I am writing this For Fun.
> 
> I haven’t posted fanfiction in 15 years, y'all please be very nice to me.
> 
> If anyone would like to volunteer as a Beta for this beast, please let me know!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [THE MAN BEHIND THE MAN: ALEXANDER HAMILTON’S QUESTIONABLE RISE TO THE TOP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276904) by [katharienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katharienne/pseuds/katharienne)




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